The cartel leader who wants sleep.

Wilhelm understood that he had to build his life by himself. That forged his hard character. He never knew his mother — she died of a drug overdose when she used them after his birth. She had avoided them for nine months because his father wanted to be sure the child was his. As it turned out, it was. At the very least he was an exact copy of his father, and a DNA test confirmed the relation, which saved Wilhelm. Otherwise he might have been killed when he reached one year. Besides, he was already a third-generation citizen of that country: his grandfather had obtained the citizenship, and his father received it at birth. It was not their native country, more like one resembling Germany as we understand it.

His father died when Wilhelm was ten. Either from his wounds — he had almost been shot at point-blank range — or from cirrhosis of the liver. In his last years he began to drink and to neglect the boy... and his attention soon turned to his younger brother, Wilhelm’s uncle. The uncle drank too, but at least he first gave his wife the bulk of his pay so she could buy food. He spent the rest on drink, but there was something to eat. The scenes of violence were imprinted on the boy’s young mind. Fortunately his aunt took him in well. The boy also helped his older sister with the younger children, so they formed a friendly little group with the uncle’s other son. His brother would later become a very prominent politician, which more than once saved Wilhelm from scrapes where he might have ended up behind bars. And his sister is by no means an unimportant person in the legal world, although many know her mainly "as that beauty from the law firm"... But that was fine. The woman often helped her brother with her looks, and he gladly helped her in hard times.

After a childhood that wasn’t easy, he managed to climb out of poverty. He got a great job as a bouncer, where he worked for a long time. Then he ran a club, then a restaurant, and so on. He worked his way up to owning a cartel, which would eventually inherit the whole business. Why not, if the man knew how to handle money? Of course Wilhelm was all for it. He couldn’t oppose it...

Afterwards, his boss was killed: while he was drinking his wine, his mistress simply picked up a glass and struck him on the head, then grabbed a sharp-edged object and drove it into his chest. Still, his relationship with the boss had been excellent, so he managed to get such power into his hands.

When all that happened, Tvangste really ran wild. He began opening more and more establishments, showing off his wealth and explaining it by saying that his sufferings had brought him a kind of "blessing from on high" that gave him the strength to go on. All the faithful were delighted, since he not only looked the part of a "righteous man," but also supplied them all with alcohol and drugs. And for many influential bigwigs that was very convenient, especially since the alcohol was sold to them "below market" — very cheap. They resold it and that helped cover part of the costs. Besides, many sect members wanted to give their daughters to him in marriage. None of the sect members knew, however, that he preferred men. So he readily organized practically orgies surrounded by men who were more than willing to lie under him or to take him. Tvangste liked both options. But that happened more in the social circles of the golden youth, who liked fast drugs that let you get wasted and do whatever you wanted in one of the basements, fitted out with the latest tech. And how did he meet the sect members? It was simple. He financed the construction of a museum that housed various religious cultural artifacts. That’s how they found him. Now he practically has to fend off some idiots trying to drag him into their faith. He had to move to a country mansion located literally in the middle of the forest. He lives there comfortably; his sister visits him often, his brother less so. After all, his business is doing well, while his sister’s is not so prosperous. By the way, his sister’s name is Elsa Tvangste and his brother is Karl Tvangste. And this very Elsa loves to tease her brother with the words "I could put one of the judges under you so they could grope me afterwards. God, how often that happens..." It’s a fairly common occurrence. And she finds easy the things that aren’t always easy for him. Elsa is the kind of person who, if needed, can say, "Well, shit... Brother, how did you get yourself into this?" Or another line in the vein of, "The first forty years of a man's life are the hardest..." — then she heaves a heavy sigh and covers her face with her hands. But she doesn’t get angry, she just laughs. They don’t differ that much and look very similar. Perhaps that’s why everyone easily guessed their kinship, which they didn’t hide.

In general, Elsa is a frequent guest, but she always warns and asks before coming. So Wilhelm is only glad to have such a friend, someone he can talk to about anything in the world.

But back to the present. Tvangste once again visited one of his acquaintances. He managed a particular area and controlled clubs that brought income from prostitution and alcohol sales. There was one very profitable club. He needed to get that one for himself too... And what luck: they offered him to supply alcohol there!

Fortunately the first meeting about the contract went wonderfully. Wilhelm arrived and signed the papers. But he had one question: "Can you give me a sweet dream?" He soon turned it into a joke, but it wasn’t just a simple joke. As soon as the young man who agreed to become his... rather not a slave, but a subordinate, came, he could immediately see Tvangste’s too-soft and sweet smile — clearly fake, but it didn’t seem to matter to him.

"I’ll put some conditions so I can supply you with alcohol in the needed quantities, but... they might seem specific." — the new charge of Wilhelm was surprised when he said the following — "Give me a sheet. I have a pen."

Wilhelm quickly took the paper from his subordinate’s hand and gave clear instructions: arrive at the pharmacy where they sell substances; a car of a certain make and with specific plates will pick him up; he must arrive and take a shower in the room they lead him to; spray himself with a special perfume; dress in a silk pajama in a pastel color (preferably green); after that go to Wilhelm’s office, where they will lead him. Then act according to the situation. All these activities must take place at specified times. And at exactly 17:00 on Wednesdays, Sundays, and Mondays until his awakening. Wilhelm would be armed, and the boy would be searched.

All this was handed down to the younger man, and at the end he whispered a very curious phrase when the boy approached and leaned in: "At work I like to dominate, but in bed I prefer to go by instinct. Keep that in mind, and take whatever you consider necessary. But not with glucose — you could catch infections. And yes, be ready for a lot of weight!" — he whispered, then left.

On the appointed day, Sunday, Wilhelm sat in his office. There was a large sofa; everything was done in green and black tones. It somehow calmed his mind, preventing him from snapping. A cigarette was in his mouth, smoked down almost to the filter. He knew the boy should arrive in his office very soon. And indeed — in the silk pajamas that had been specially prepared. The scent from the list, which could not but please. His hair was clearly wet.

In Wilhelm’s hands was a pistol, and his tired appearance was plainly visible. He was dressed in a light, salad-colored pajama; the window was slightly open. The sofa had been unfolded so two could lie there. On top of the mattress was another mattress, a special one. Everything was made up, beautiful pillows lay as well. But the most important thing was Wilhelm’s favorite blanket — the one his sister had given him when they could not yet boast of wealth, when they had modest means. He refused to throw it away and covered himself with it almost every night, though his sister had given him others too, which he did not disdain. It was beautiful — black with a small constellation pattern. Suddenly a smile appeared on his face. The same cloying, insincere one.

— Good day. I’m glad you did everything right. I was starting to think you wanted a bullet to the forehead. But since you don’t... that’s wonderful. Expect the alcohol tomorrow, and the drugs as well. Everything will be in tea crates so there’s no suspicion.

Only, to everyone’s great surprise, Wilhelm chose a healthy sleep instead of anything else. He made his new charge lie down on the sofa, and he lay on top of him. Unhurriedly, gently. He closed his eyes quickly. He made the boy stroke his hair until he fell asleep. And that was all. He didn’t intend to grope him. He needed a sound sleep. That’s why he made him wear that outfit and spray himself with perfume — so it would be comfortable to hug him and lie like that. Strange as it was, that’s how it was. He didn’t refuse to talk, since he was just falling asleep. But now and then he got up to pour himself some mineral water and drink it. Another glass stood nearby: some strange cocktail, but it looked chocolatey. On a plate sat a half-eaten piece of pie. Traditional German. Raisins and nuts had been soaked in alcohol, more precisely cognac. Also a chocolate sponge cake with all that, but squeezed out of excess alcohol. Wilhelm liked it because his aunt used to make it at Christmas. Back then his uncle hardly drank, so you could create a convincing image of a loving family... That pleased him, because they had enough money for everything at those times. And now, when he has huge sums and most transactions happen through accounts, if it were cash, like Escobar he’d have to write off part of the profit because of the rodents that feed on the money... He could afford to eat that every day, but prefers to have it before sleep.

It’s worth keeping quiet about the fact that all this is obtained through slave labor, although on paper it isn’t slavery. People supposedly just work, but in reality they’re almost slaves on the plantations. Then they make sugar and molasses, the latter often burns the skin, because they work in the desert where it’s hard to find them. Understandably, the heat takes its toll. In the greenhouses it’s especially hot. And he doesn’t do this with some Black people, but with white people. Among the "colored population" he is also popular, since he’s a very good friend of a certain person, also a politician. Then they make rum, sometimes cognac and wine, tequila and much more. Some of it is brought in by smuggling... A lot is done. He has far too many sins on his hands...

But now a completely different picture emerges: a sweet and pleasant boy who loves his family and dislikes a drinking uncle... while in reality he has become a hundred times worse than him. But he... doesn’t care. He just wants a peaceful sleep so there won’t be those usual dark circles under his eyes. He can’t fall asleep without someone nearby. Whether just in the room, or with physical contact. Only all of it was strange...